


A Study in Contrasts: Watercolor

by topcatnikki



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Angst, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Doki Doki, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Happy Ending, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Katsudom, M/M, Nerds in Love, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Top Katsuki Yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topcatnikki/pseuds/topcatnikki
Summary: Viktuuri Artist AU.Yuuri finds himself downcast after failing to place at the De Voss awards, back in Detroit after his disappointing debut to the art world he's surprised by a guest model for his watercolor seminar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hellohoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellohoney/gifts), [Alexis_Katsuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Katsuki/gifts), [Mikai02](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikai02/gifts), [Alphina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphina/gifts), [yuurikatsuckme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuurikatsuckme/gifts), [Victors_tears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victors_tears/gifts), [gatoradebitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatoradebitch/gifts).



> This started as a pwp one-shot for my thirsty discord nerds and got ridiculously out of hand, so thanks nerds!
> 
> Special thanks to Mara who came up with the prompt, hope you're having a lovely birthday!

Yuuri was busying himself with his supplies, adjusting the well used easel and fussing with the legs, he was used to the equipment but he was burying himself in menial tasks, he didn’t see the man’s entrance nor did he notice his fellow student’s reactions. He was too preoccupied with his inner monologue. Today's seminar was a study of the human figure in their choice of style, although Celestino was insisting on watercolours for this lecture. Yuuri had never been a fan of watercolour, it was too delicate for his heavy-handed tastes. He preferred to work in oils or acrylics; harsh, hard materials he could bend to his will, rather than the light and subdued touches of his least favorite medium. 

 

He pushed down the juddery feeling of his nerves, ignoring his brain as it helpfully reminded him that the watercolours he'd submitted for the De Voss awards last year hadn't placed. Ignored the tide of embarrassment at the hubris that had spurred him into entering himself for the race, where his idol had placed miles ahead of himself. Naturally Viktor Nikiforov had come in first, he was an incredible artist and Yuuri had been watching his career with greedy eyes since he was a child. Yuuri had been deluded to think that he could  _ ever _ come close to such genius. 

 

Yuuri separated out his brushes from the bundle, organising them quickly before turning to his canvas and running a quick hand over the fame. It was a calming gesture, ensuring it was tight and ready for him to begin. He loved this moment, when he had the blank white space waiting for his touch, but no clear idea of what he would be bringing forth. 

 

Celestino had taken his place in the centre of the room, next to the small podium littered with pillows and blankets, all there for the life-model. Celestino was outlining the assignment, explaining in minute detail what was expected of them. Yuuri wasn't looking forward to it, he could feel the nerves threatening already making his palms clammy and fingers itch. His last watercolour assignment had been something of a disaster, not soft or delicate enough for Celestino’s tastes, and he didn't want a repeat performance. 

 

He also didn't dwell on the fact that he should be better at this, even if Japanese and Western ideals of watercolour didn't tend towards each other particularly well, it was part of his culture. One that he had loved deeply as a child, daubing patterns under the careful eye of his mother with chubby inexact toddler hands, and later with Minako’s tutelage. Yet somehow he found himself at a loss when it came to the Westernised idea of this particular artwork. His lines too heavy, his colours deeper than Celestino would have liked. 

 

Celestino was winding down his instruction, explaining that while there was limited access to the live model, they'd be allowed access to the room for detailing and touch ups at his discretion. Celestino has always been good like that, been accessible and friendly to his students, encouraging experimentation and helping to bring out the best in their pieces. Yuuri only hoped that he could do well, make Celestino proud with his abysmal attempts at watercolours. The man glanced towards the back of the room and make a beckoning gesture, “and here's our model for the next semester, Viktor Nikiforov.”

 

_ Viktor Nikiforov?  _

 

Yuuri whipped his head around to where Celestino had been looking, and sure enough there was the Russian artist, wrapped snugly in a dark robe and walking smoothly between the easels. 

 

_ Viktor. Nikiforov. _

 

Yuuri barely had time to mentally run the name incredulously through his stammering conscious before the man himself was passing him, silver hair glinting in the unforgiving glare of the overhead lights. He took to the podium gracefully, fiddling for a few seconds with the pillows stacking them carefully, before turning to the room at large and disrobing without an ounce of self-consciousness. 

 

What the hell was Viktor Nikiforov doing here? Yuuri’s brain was stuttering through the thought, half on the concept of the  _ De Voss  _ and  _ Hugo Boss  _ award winning artist and model being trapped in the grubby, cramped confines of the studio, half on the miles of pale skin he suddenly had an unobstructed view of. Yuuri ducked behind his easel, face flushed and hands shaky. He had done this a hundred times before, stared and plotted out the dimensions of the human form. He'd sketched, painted, and moulded figures with his hands in every position and state of dress. He thought he was past the point of being surprised anymore. 

 

But as he dared to dart a single glance around his canvas once more, watching Nikiforov artfully arrange himself in a sprawl of limbs that was indecently attractive, his blush extended down to his chest, a curling heat that expanded through his abdomen dangerously. Yuuri caught himself in the act of outright starting at almost the exact moment the Viktor did. He hid behind the canvas again quickly, but not quickly enough to miss the saucy wink and bright smile his idol shot him. 

 

His study in watercolour had quickly become a study in detachment. 

 

He forcibly pulled his mind from the nerves that had quadrupled in a matter of minutes, he felt the room around him settle into the familiar quiet of concentration, he pulled out a pair of headphones, jamming them hastily over his ears and randomly selecting any playlist that came to hand. He took a steadying breath, feeling the blush recede and his mind clear as he started plotting the ratio of  _ Viktor Nikiforovs  _ beautiful form onto the canvas. 

 

It took him less that fifteen minutes to get the limbs and torso lightly traced into fluid lines, he'd fallen into his professional head space easily once he'd started focusing on single aspects. He'd devoted himself to capturing the languid grace of each curve of the body on display, each part of the person before him scrutinised and measured before being carefully devoted to the canvas. Drawing Viktor Nikiforov shouldn’t be too difficult, Yuuri had doodled and sketched the man a hundred times- out of boredom, out of need to inspire himself when nothing else would help. Drawing Viktor was something like second nature to him in times of anxiety or restlessness, devoting hours to the fall of his hair, to the clear blues of his eyes. Then, the images he’d captured previously had always been static things, caught from moments on camera, not shifting slightly against throw pillows with chest moving steadily. And while in some of his more imaginative moments he’d committed the expanse of skin, he’d never had a true point of reference for capturing the reality of him naked and relaxed, or for the more private parts of him. 

 

Yuuri attempted not to focus too much on it as he captured the curve and fall of Viktors genitals on the canvas. 

 

His eyes gently traced his work, pleased with how easily the figure was flowing through his fingers. He fussed over the curve of the neck running into the shoulder, putting off the moment. He detailed the fingernails of the left hand with suggestions of strokes, procrastinating. 

 

Then, having finally run out of minute details to distract him, Yuuri shifted his gaze to Viktor's face, sweeping the jawline and cheekbones. Yuuri catalogued the tonal difference between the pink of his lips and the shade gracing his cheekbones, skin darkening prettily. Yuuri blinked quickly, pulling himself out of the hyper-focus he'd been lulled into and bringing the features back into focus as a whole. 

 

It took him a second to realise that he was staring again. This time however, Viktor was scrutinising him in return, eyes scanning his face and moving quickly over his torso before meeting his eyes. Yuuri’s professional mindset chirped at him about how much nicer the new and stronger blush across Viktor's cheeks contrasted with the mesmerising blue of his eyes. His forebrain seemed to be stuck on a high screeching whine, that could very easily have clawed its way out of his throat if he hadn't tramped it down. 

 

What was Viktor looking at? Did he have something in his face? Yuuri’s internal monologue began proving several other options for Viktor's careful inspection: perhaps he had forgotten his pants this morning, or he was in fact wearing a banana suit, maybe Viktor had never seen someone wear an unkempt and paint splattered jeans and t-shirt so badly. 

 

While Yuuri logged an unending number of probable causes for Viktor's interest, Viktor himself simply arched a brow at him, a tiny lift at one corner of his lips as he trailed his eyes the length of Yuuri’s body indecently. Yuuri’s brain began a whole new list of reasons Viktor was looking at him. One which made heat curl in his abdomen. 

 

Yuuri shook himself out of that mindset quickly. So the other man had checked him out, fine. Not even unusual, he was in shape, he drew looks often enough that it didn't much bother him anymore. But then again, most of the people who had checked him out that thoroughly hadn't had billboards ads of themselves in their underwear plastered all over the country. Nor had Yuuri had reproductions of said ads on his wall, but who was counting? 

 

It took an embarrassingly long time to finish the foundation sketch, Yuuri shooting glances at Viktor and finding the other man looking back at him intently, it was unnerving and stopped him from falling back into the mindless space he was far more comfortable with. He did it though, capturing the fall of hair across one eye, the depth of his brow and the curve of lips. He almost sighed in relief when he could stop catching Viktor's eye, hoping that the man would find something a little more interesting to focus on. 

 

He busied himself in capturing all of the miniscule differences of colour he could find on Viktor's left calf, then his right, shades mingling and diverging as the knot of his knee emerged. He worked methodically, adding shade after shade, intensifying colour saturation in the hollow of an ankle. 

 

He was pulled into the work once more, slipping into the action of creating something beautiful. There had never been a doubt in Yuuri’s mind that this man was stunningly handsome, his choice of wall decoration was a testament to that, but now he was immersing himself fully in the captivating flow of every detail of the man's body. He found himself enchanted by the dark shadow in the hollow of a collarbone, fingers committing it to the canvas in delicate and reverent strokes. 

 

A movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention from his work. The students around him were busying themselves with packing away supplies, hurrying to rinse brushes, to find space on drying racks. His awareness now fully back in the present, he looked over his work, trying to be objective. 

 

And failing as he picked out every minute detail he had flubbed. 

 

He didn't hear the approach of the other man, he was too busy criticising how often he'd been heavy handed in his inattention, but he felt the presence as a tingling at the base of his neck. The sudden knowledge someone was observing him made his head swivel, hands pulling his headphones away. He expected Celestino, the older man usually left Yuuri alone during the period, having gotten used to way Yuuri would throw himself into a piece and reserved his attention for those who wished for it, leaving Yuuri until the end of the session for his critiques. 

 

It was not Celestino.

 

Viktor Nikiforov was looking over his right shoulder, scanning over the canvas lightly.

 

“Uh.” Yuuri had never been the world’s greatest conversationalist, he was an introvert after all, but more often than not he could manage full sentences with ease. Today he could barely manage single syllables. 

 

“Your proportions are very good, and the use of colour is very intense. The detail in the clavicle could be a little clearer.” One of Viktor's hands comes around Yuuri from behind him, looping past his bicep to trail a hairsbreadth from the still drying paint. “But this is beautiful, the way you’ve used variegated wash to deepen the shadows, and the clarity of the silhouette is exquisite.”

 

Viktor is standing so close that Yuuri doesn’t even have to turn his head to look at him, he only glances from the side of his eye, catching the way the other man takes in every detail of Yuuri’s work.

 

“Exquisite?”  _ Three syllables, way to up your game Katsuki. _

 

“Exquisite.” Viktor repeats. Then he’s gone, pulling away as quickly as he’d arrived and making towards Celestino’s office, and presumably his clothes.

***

If one word can describe a man, then the word for Viktor Nikiforov was  _ effortless _ .

 

He was effortlessly talented as a child, putting little actual work into his art and yet producing works that garnered attention and praise in droves. He was effortlessly charming, his natural affability and genuine interest in the world lending him an accessible air. He was effortlessly beautiful- he could thank his parents for their genes. Effortlessly metropolitan, his interest in the world bringing him into new and niche groups with ease.

 

Yet when it came to Katsuki Yuuri he had finally found his limit. No matter how charming he was, Yuuri could disarm him with a shy smile. Who needed to be seen in all of the right places, when you could be in Yuuri’s presence? His beauty paled in comparison to the younger man.

 

And his talent? Worthless, meaningless.

 

In light of Yuuri’s ability to capture the world in shades of blue and grey, pour the warmth and love he saw around him through the medium of watercolour into stark lines and soft curves, Viktor felt like a fraud.

 

Katsuki Yuuri was also the most frustrating person Viktor had ever met. 

 

He’d been hypnotic, beautiful and captivating at the De Voss awards afterparty. A wallflower blooming under the influence of the finest champagne. Katsuki Yuuri had taken what should have been a regularly dull affair and turned it on its head, taking Viktor with him. He’d blasted into Viktor's life like a tsunami, a whirlwind of dancing and laughing and talking about nothing and everything and- and then he’d gone. Left in a flurry of laughter and promises of keeping in touch that had kept Viktor hoping, and waiting.

 

Waiting, it seemed, was also not effortless- but playing the jilted lover was. He moped, he sighed, he pined, and he got yelled at by at least three different people for being ‘dramatic’. Viktor could take a hint, it wasn’t cute anymore, it was outrageous that someone as amazing and funny as Yuuri could blow him off.

 

So Viktor had effortlessly taken the initiative, done some effortless digging around, and effortlessly inserted himself into Katsuki Yuuri’s world almost exactly as the other man had done to him months before. And yes, perhaps it had less than subtle to turn up and immediately get naked, but the other man had given Viktor the pole dance to end all pole dances, he rationalised, he was simply returning the favor.

 

The whole plan was going swimmingly, Viktor thought as he tipped a cheeky wink at Yuuri and settled himself. Now to wait… 

 

Yet apart from some excellently speculative eye contact, nothing happened. Yuuri had been absorbed in his work, there had been a lovely moment of mutual regard, and then he'd settled back into the cushions enjoying Yuuri's eyes on him immensely. When the session had wrapped up, Viktor had finally had the chance to approach the other man and see what Yuuri had made of him. 

 

It was almost as much of a surprise as Yuuri himself, a study in contrasts with Viktor bathed in grey blues. It took his breath away. He couldn't help but want to touch it, but stopped just barely short of the still drying paint, fingers tracing the lines reverently. He offered a few miniscule opinions, hoping he was being helpful but not entirely aware of the words falling from his mouth until Yuuri echoed one back at him. 

 

“Exquisite?” Yuuri's eyes were on him again, Viktor was hyper aware of his arm pressed against the other man's bicep, he could practically swoon from the tension crackling between them. 

 

His nerves are failing him, he has the startling realisation that he's wearing nothing but a cheap polyester robe, and that the heat of Yuuri's body is leaking through it like a furnace. There are a hundred brilliant and terrible ideas floating through his head, but most depend upon their being alone. 

 

“Exquisite.” He agrees, eyeing the painting. Tactical retreat. There's nothing he can do with students swarming sinks and Celestino heading over to intercept Yuuri. And clothing might be a good idea in this instance… 

 

Viktor changes quickly, he shoves his feet to pants and shoes, foregoing socks in his haste and still straightening his shirt as he emerged. 

 

Yuuri wasn't there. 

***

Viktor Nikiforov continues to spend incredible lengths of time naked in Yuuri’s presence, he spends so much time staring at Viktor’s naked body he’s almost acclimatising.

 

Well, not quite. 

 

As a teenager Yuuri had harboured something of a crush on his idol, he’d plastered his walls with images of the other man, collecting every one he could find in Japan, then going further afield, gathering every scrap and snap of his favorite artist. His sister teased him mercilessly, but bought him reprints of Viktors pieces for his walls- framed reprints that she helped him hang, all the while chuckling to herself. 

 

Okay, not a crush. Infatuation. He’d always aimed his art to rival Viktor’s, but what came naturally to Viktor took hours of practice for Yuuri- what Yuuri struggled to achieve Viktor did effortlessly, even when it came to life outside of their art. Viktor was glamorous and beautiful, desirable in the most mouthwatering way. Yuuri was okay looking, he’d thought- shifting the few pounds that rounded his features throughout puberty did him wonders once he’d reached college. But at the time, in his childhood bedroom looking up at the perfection that was Viktor’s posters adorning his walls he had lamented in the fact he would never be anything but ordinary.

 

He’d daydreamed as a kid, always been ‘away in his own world’ his mother smiled kindly. His imagination had fixated on meeting Viktor, weaving idyllic fantasies of them by chance or design spending a day together. He loved these daydreams, every one of them was different, every one had a different shape or feel. Sometimes Viktor was pursuing him, wondering who the talented young man with the dark eyes could possibly be? Other times Yuuri  drew Viktor in, with smiles and conversation that never seemed to end. They got coffee, they met by chance outside an ice rink, they meet buying art supplies. Perhaps a glamorous ball, their eyes meeting over the heads of the crowd...

 

And if at night his day dreams took on a needier edge, then he was the only one to know. But now? Now he was a 21 year old man, he'd grown past the point of embarrassing trips to the laundry room, surely? 

 

Yuuri had grown out of his infatuated haze of daydreams, life had moved on and he with it. High school had lead into leaving home and Japan behind in a flurry of Skype calls and interviews which had pulled for his attention. It was natural to grow up and out of childhood fantasies. Even through his move to the US Viktor still had his regard, Yuuri still managed to keep tabs on Viktor, he just didn’t spend hours wending his way through silly daydreams. Even if he had, the reality wouldn’t have measured up.

 

Viktor, laid out for a bunch of students, seemingly unbothered that he was the anomaly in the room. Completely at ease with every pair of eyes upon him, but only seeking Yuuri out. It was astonishing, unbelievable and apparently it was actually happening. Viktor invaded his consciousness like an occupying force, taking up residence and settling there, encroaching into every corner. Yuuri was dreaming again in a way he hadn’t in years, he was detailing every part of the other man in his sleeping and waking thoughts in ways his inexperienced teenaged mind could never have imagined. His preoccupation was showing, his roommate Phichit had finally pulled the facts out of him after Yuuri had tried to make tea with a kettle he hadn’t boiled for the second time that week.

 

“You’re telling me the guy you’ve had the world's biggest crush on since you were thirteen is getting up in your face all nekkid and shit, and you’re complaining?” Phichit has a sly grin on his face.

 

“I’m not  _ com _ plaining. I’m  _ ex _ plaining.” Yuuri’s blush is difficult to tramp down, Phichit was more than aware of Yuuri’s former obsession with his idol, they’d built their relationship on a standard of sharing mortifying stories from their lives to see who could make the other crack up the most. After Yuuri had shared his obsession (‘-borderline fanaticism!’ Phichit had argued, but with a lit major he was always gonna argue semantics) Phichit had had a running joke since then that if Yuuri needed a real incentive to do his work Phichit would start gifting him Nikiforovs underwear shoots. Laminated. Yuuri had engaged him in slapfight that ended with them both flushed and giggling like children. “You  _ did _ ask.”

 

“Yes, and apparently I should start looking for a shooting start now, wish granting season is in!” Phichit gave him an even wider smile, feigning wonder.

 

“It’s not like that-”

 

“Oh no, of course not. Definitely couldn’t be anything like that, how could I possibly have imagined- Oh, thats right. Because he talks to you, approaches you and apparently had time to spare in his brilliant and amazing career to just spend months getting his junk out for a bunch of students.” 

 

“I-”

 

Phichit gives him no chance to reply, simply disappearing into his laughter so easily he has tears in his eyes. 

 

“You’re the worst.” Yuuri gives his best friend a shove that topples him off the tiny couch and onto the floor, still laughing. 

 

Phichit is useless, he decides as the other man begins a rendition of  _ Once Upon a Dream _ .

***

To say he was thrown by Yuuri’s quick escape at the end of the first session is an understatement. He’s disappointed and a little hurt that Yuuri had run from him, but Viktor takes it in his stride and turns up the next day with a smile on his face just for Yuuri, but the session ends with the man stammering his thanks for Viktors praise and bolting. 

 

And so it went. 

 

Day after day Viktor put himself on display for Yuuri, watched Yuuri as he captures the images in stark contrasts, every session he makes an effort to talk to the other man but Yuuri is-

 

Reticent. Contained. Uncrackable. 

 

Yuuri takes  _ effort.  _

 

During the third session Yuuri had asked him whether he would have used a lighter shade of green in a miniscule highlight on Viktor's cheekbone. Viktor is so stunned that when the man asks his opinion he takes far too long to answer, leaving Yuuri stammering out an apology for ever even asking. Once Viktor's brain is re-engaged, he makes light of it and disagrees, suggesting a starker contrast, a heavier emphasis. Yuuri smiles shyly at that and Viktor can't help but answer with a huge grin. 

 

He spends an inordinately long time thinking about the tiny interaction that night. When he'd come to Detroit he'd expected he and Yuuri to fall into each other's arms happily, and into each other's beds in short order. The Yuuri he found waiting for him in Detroit, however was as far removed from the one he remembered they may as well be different people. Detroit Yuuri was introverted, quiet, no sign of the excessively extravagant man who’d wooed him so thoroughly at the after party in sight. This Yuuri was a shy smiled, paint-spattered, focused artist. He knew the type, he'd been so immersed in the world of art that he could practically typecast his peers with accuracy. And yet this was Katsuki Yuuri, a whirlwind, a funny and handsome player. 

 

Viktor threw himself into their interactions with vigor, he waited, he bided his time. He never overstepped the invisible boundaries Yuuri surrounded himself with, waiting for Yuuri to break through them himself. And Yuuri did, after the fifth session he beckoned Viktor over, asking something inane about shading in waters, his fingers graze Viktor’s wrist for a second when they talk about brush brands and Viktor has to bite back a smile. After the eighth they got into a debate about impressionism after seeing another student's work. Each session Yuuri was producing canvases filled with Viktor in any number of positions, sprawled on cushions, propped idly in a brocade chair, curled over, knees crossed by his chest. Each image was distinctly individual in Yuuri’s stark style, and Viktor devoured them. 

 

Viktor's fingers itched, he didn't know if it was a desire to create or the want to run his fingers over the curve of Yuuri's jawline. Each session left him craving. 

 

Time was not on his side. It made him jittery. It made him stupid. 

 

Somewhere along the road between being entirely snubbed and quickly sought out at the end of each session the conversations had morphed. He found a playful side to Yuuri, one which blossomed under his positive interactions. He found that Yuuri could be quick witted and downright sassy if Viktor pulled it out of him. Viktor loved it, and in return Yuuri began to open up. 

 

Viktor had dragged Yuuri to his favorite coffee place on campus, they had extended their talks to walks in the nearby park with Makkachin forging a path ahead of them. Once he’d managed to get Yuuri back to his apartment, they’d been discussing favorite authors on a walk and had made it half the way back before Viktor announced it was time to borrow a book. Yuuri had been wide-eyed taking in his bookshelves, stammering his thanks as he bolted with the book in his hands, yet the next morning Yuuri had approached him at the end of the session with a copy of his favorite novel in his hands and a sublime blush across his nose. It was a love story, a delicate and beautiful book of prose and it raised even more questions than it answered. Viktor found himself actively rooting out information, digging at every turn of phrase for hidden meanings. 

 

Yuuri was revealing more of himself, letting out details and thoughts that Viktor hoarded like a greedy dragon with piles of gold. Tiny things they were, stories from his hometown in Japan, anecdotes about his roommate, in return Viktor told stories of Yakov’s affectionate yelling, life in St. Petersburg and his escapades with Makkachin. It feels like they’re building something, with these incidental stories which would count for nothing to anyone who might overhear, something fragile and beautiful. It’s almost like the first strokes of a brush to the canvas, the foundation sketch is already there, but those first strokes always made Viktors fingers buzz with energy, tentative but sure as the first colours saturate and fill the space, creating something definable. 

 

Viktor muses on it back in the tiny apartment he’d rented for the duration, scratching idly at Makkachin’s ears, he can feel something building, and its bigger and heavier than the infatuation of the De Voss afterparty. He’s considering the implication of throwing himself in it, allowing whatever it is to engulf him, and wonders if Yuuri can feel it too?

***

It’s been nearly two weeks. 

 

Two weeks of allowing himself to get swept up in the torrent of attention Viktor is bestowing upon him, and somehow it’s been easy to follow his lead. Especially easy when Viktor is alight with a new idea, or discussing historical artists, or leading him through the streets of Detroit. 

 

Dumb luck. 

 

It must be dumb luck that has landed him in a rerun of all of his childhood fantasies, Viktor excitedly chattering away as Yuuri smiles up at him. The most miraculous part of it was that Viktor hadn’t yet tired of Yuuri, he practically lit up whenever Yuuri voiced an opinion, or shared a few words. 

 

Yuuri was still a bit reticent, he wasn’t sure what Viktor wanted of him, why he’d been singled out as Phichit had put it. He didn’t want to question it, there was a saying about gift horses and mouths that he kept firmly in mind as he allowed himself to be dragged along by Viktor’s tenacity in learning the city, and in turn learning about Yuuri.

 

It was Thursday afternoon, Celestino had left him the studio keys to do touch ups on his latest piece, he wasn’t happy with the lines, or maybe it was the reds? He’d remained at his canvas as his classmates filed out, and as usual Viktor was waiting for him, hanging back and watching.

 

“You’re staying late?” He’s being regarded from the doorway.

 

“Yeah, I’m not happy with… something.” he gestures at the canvas vaguely. Viktor wanders over, “I think it’s the lines-”

 

“Hmm. I don’t see anything wrong with this.” Viktor squints at the drying paint, “Although I think you need to take your mind off whatever is bothering you, your hand gets heavy when you’re worried.”

 

_ What? _

 

“It’s something I noticed. There’s something on your mind, yes?” Viktor grabs his wrist, “Usually when you paint, it’s like this-” he positions Yuuri’s wrist, “But sometimes it was like this-” a minute change to the angle, he arranges Yuuri’s fingers, “Today was this one, the second one.”

 

Viktor had noticed that? Yuuri couldn’t deny he’d been preoccupied today, he’d been tense and worried about how long Viktor was going to be interested in him, how he was going to keep Viktor’s attention.

 

“I…”

 

“You don’t have to talk about it- not with me if you don’t want to. But if you did I’m willing to-”

 

“Viktor, why… are you here?” the question pushes it’s way into the air between them, Viktor is close, as usual. Yuuri can feel the way his fingers clench against his wrist, still braced in mid-air. “There are hundreds of artists who would give their hands to be in your company, and you’re posing for still life’s for a bunch of college students.”

 

The sweeping gaze Viktor gives him is sharp, he looks almost hurt by the insinuation that he should be anywhere else. “This is where I want to be.” he says simply, but Yuuri can see him thinking the statement over, it’s almost like watching Viktor disappear into himself. Yuuri’s wrist falls from it’s position, Viktor brackets it with a frown to himself.

 

“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-” Gift horse. He shouldn’t have asked, of course he shouldn’t have because now Viktor will be wondering himself. There are seeds of doubt unfurling in Yuuri’s consciousness, and he’d fed them himself, he shouldn’t be questioning his luck like this.

 

“No, Yuuri.” He blinks away the introspection, “I’m here because your art resonates with me, I saw it at the De Voss and I see it here.” It's the first time either of them has mentioned the awards, Yuuri is more than surprised that Viktor had noticed his work, let alone seen anything noteworthy in it. The implication of his words isn’t lost on Yuuri either, he’d come to Detroit for  _ him _ , to look at  _ his _ work. There was a war of emotions battling for supremacy within him, but outright shock seemed to be winning out. 

 

Viktor had seen his art, had seen his submissions, and had liked it. Liked it? Probably not a strong enough sentiment for whatever had led to him packing up and shipping himself and Makkachin halfway across the world. 

 

“Your art is unique in a way that so few are, and I wanted to see it for myself. How you create it, how it comes to be.” He looks at the canvas before them, contemplating. “Exquisite.”

 

Yuuri looks at the piece, he’s still not sure what Viktor is seeing that he doesn’t, but something in his voice is convincing him, wiping away the doubt and clearing the shades from his eyes. There was something unique in the style, yes- the blending of cultures leaving their marks starkly against the pale expanse of canvas. And Yuuri knew he wasn’t terrible, but it just wasn’t quite good enough for him. He could do better, he was certain of it, but Viktor’s regard was wearing his self-doubt thin. The way Viktor was looking at him, the way Viktor talked about his art was so much like the way he had been looking at the other man's for so long now… 

 

Yuuri wasn't unaware of his talent, he knows his art was good in an objective way, he simply holds himself to a standard which was possibly somewhat unrealistic. But when that standard was Viktor, of course it was unrealistic. Viktor was a child prodigy, a natural genius, he was everything that Yuuri wasn’t, and yet Viktor was  _ here _ . Viktor is here, and his smile something small and private, warm and genuine, and it’s just for Yuuri.

 

“Exquisite.” Yuuri agrees, but he only has eyes for Viktor.

***

“Nothing? He hasn’t mentioned anything?” Chris is a thousand miles away and Viktor can hear the scepticism in his voice, and a hint of amusement.

 

“No, I don’t know if he’s just embarrassed or- I just don’t-” If ever Viktor had been unsure whether Yuuri remembered their encounter at the banquet, his questioning put the doubt out of his mind completely. He’s forgotten it, or perhaps never remembered it in the first place. So Viktor had been working from faulty information. 

 

“Oh this is  _ priceless! _ ” Chris is laughing ecstatically, Viktor has no trouble in imagining Chris curled into fits of laughter at his pain. 

 

“Chriiiiiis. It's not  _ funny _ .” 

 

“Of course it's funny Vitya! You travelled halfway around the world for a booty call- you-” His laughter seems to be disabling his communication functions. “You- Viktor Nikiforov are getting blue-balled-”

 

“Oh yes, hilarious. I'm so glad you're enjoying my agony.” Chris’ laughter is catching though, the stupidity of the situation settles in his brain and yes, he can see that if it was anyone else in his position he'd been crying with laughter too. Chris is being less than helpful though, “And Yuuri’s not a booty call, he’s-”

 

“Please spare me your gushing praise of Katsuki Yuuri, I only just brushed my teeth and I don’t need cavities.”

 

“You’re the worst best friend I’ve ever had.” This is related to the crook of his arm, it pulls another pealing giggle from Christophe. 

 

“I’m the only person with the patience to deal with you!” 

 

“Yes, you’re practically saintly. Oh Christophe, you’re so wise and kind, please help me, I couldn’t possibly survive without you oh great one!”

 

“Well that just makes you look even needier.” 

 

“Chriiiiiiiiiiiis.”

 

“Does it matter if he doesn’t remember Viktor? You say he’s coming out of his shell and talking to you, so maybe just wait for him to be comfortable? Or maybe he’s just an affectionate drunk, but you’re getting to know him better and that’s a good thing right?” Chris sighs, “If it sounded like you were unhappy, or that he was leading you on then I’d tell you to ship over here and we can find a hot tub in the alps with our names on it, but if anything you sound more enamoured than ever.”

 

“You’re the best best friend I’ve ever had.”

 

“And don’t you forget it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the feedback on the last chapter, it made my week! Have a second installment!

They’re sat in a Burger Bar, a hole-in-the-wall place with tacky decor and a goddamn jukebox in the corner playing blues, their plates are empty, but Viktor had insisted on milkshakes for dessert.

 

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” Viktor is looking at him warmly, he has a playful smile on his lips, “You see so many American movies you just need to end up in a diner with ‘shakes sometime.” The twang he adds to ‘shakes makes him laugh.

 

“‘Shakes?” Yuuri parrots back at him, “Your accent might need some work there Mr. Nikiforov.” His Russian accent isn’t much better that Viktor’s American one, but it make Viktor brighten and chuckle to himself. It’s easy to joke, they do it so much nowadays, Viktor grins mischievously.

 

“Y’all. Howdy Pardner. There’s a snake in my boots.” Viktor says in a loud attempt at an american accent, it draws looks from the other patron that Yuuri barely notices through the snort that fires out of him at the horrifically mangled delivery, Viktor carries on, acknowledging his audience with a cheeky, “Evenin’” tipping an imaginary brim at a blonde at the next table. The idiocy of his idol catches Yuuri in a somewhat silly frame of mind, he snorts disgustingly again. Unfortunately Yuuri manages to announce his amusement straight into the whipped cream on the top of his milkshake, blasting cream into a flurry of mess that hits his glasses heavily, Viktor dissolves into giggles as Yuuri removes his smeared glasses, taking in the damage with tears of mirth blurring his already compromised vision.

 

VIktor is wiping at his eyes, face creased in laughter which is still bubbling from his lips. Yuuri has a very bad idea, a bad bad idea that could backfire spectacularly. Yuuri should definitely not, but yet somehow he drags a finger across the lens of his glasses, admires the glob of cream, and then leans forward to swipe it across Viktors cheek. The other man had been so lost in his own hilarity he hadn’t seen it coming. Viktor’s eyes shot open, staring at Yuuri as if he’d grown an extra head. Yuuri only smiles widely in return, and then wonders if he should regret his decision to be a complete dweeb when Viktor squints at him.

 

“Yuuuuri!” Viktor beams at him, “Yuuri, I think this belongs to you.”

 

Yuuri blames his reflexes for what happens next.

 

Viktor blames Yuuri.

 

The patrons at the next table blame Viktor.

 

The wide eyed waitress doesn’t get paid enough to care but sides with the other table.

 

Viktor scoops a hefty fist full of cream from his milkshake, barely aims, then chucks it at Yuuri- Yuuri who ducks quickly out of the way, unfortunately the blonde at the next table clearly doesn’t have Yuuri’s evasive skills, as she receives a hand full of chocolate covered cream to the back of her hair.

 

“Oh-”

 

“Дерьмо.”

 

The woman rounds on them slowly, horrified.

 

The chaos that ensues takes them hurriedly throwing some bills onto the table while shouting apologies to resolve but it’s a lost cause, Yuuri has been attempting to explain what had happened, Viktor is still trying to compose his face. “I’m so sorry, honestly-” Yuuri tries over the waitresses tired suggestion that they just leave already. Viktors hand wraps around his, having finally managed to stop laughing, and pulls Yuuri away from the rather irate blonde woman who is still yelling at Viktors retreating form.

 

Yuuri only realises they’re running when Viktor pulls them around a corner, the absurdity of the situation seems to catch them both at the same time. They burst into fresh gales of hysterical laughter when their eyes meet.

 

“Yuuri- you still- you still have cream everywhere!” Viktor is tripping over the words with mirth, “Come on we have to get you cleaned up.”

 

Yuuri is very aware of the fact that he's still covered in whipped cream, he can feel it drying on his left cheek and making his hair stick to his forehead greasily.

 

“My place is only a few minutes away, come on.”

 

“You don’t have to do that, I can make it back to halls.”

 

“Don’t be silly, I’m only two blocks away and you have cream in your hair!”

 

Viktor doesn't really wait for Yuuri’s agreement, he tugs on their still joined hands and leads him. Yuuri didn't resist when he’s led to the apartment, he’s simply following in the wake of the whirlwind, accepting of his fate and smiling giddily at even the concept of spending more time with Viktor. When the other man throws him a warm look over his shoulder, Yuuri can only tighten his grip on his hand in response.

***

It didn’t take much convincing to get Yuuri back to his apartment, they were still flushed from laughter and giggling intermittently at the stupidity of their night. Yuuri had nodded when Viktor suggested they should get cleaned up, readjusting his grip on Viktors hand and following his lead. In the apartment they’re still close, bumping shoulders as Viktor shows Yuuri to the bathroom and nudges him inside.

 

Finally alone, Viktor runs over the night, replays it blow by blow. It was perfect, Yuuri was relaxed and playful and beautiful and… he was running out of words to describe him. Everything. Yuuri was everything.

 

Finally he feels like Yuuri and he could be effortless too.

 

When the bathroom door swings open, however, Viktor realises he’s been very very wrong. Because Katsuki Yuuri is slightly flushed from their laughter, clean faced and shirtless in the doorway.

 

“Viktor. I think you owe me a shirt.”

 

Viktor had been an idiot to think they could be effortless- a stone cold moron. He can barely bring himself to form words. “Uh.” and yes Viktor might be staring fixedly at Yuuri’s chest, but it is a very nice chest, and probably feels left out because Viktor is usually staring at Yuuri’s face. Or his ass.

 

Yuuri seems to notice the source of Viktor’s distress about three seconds before he’s ripped his eyes away from the abundance of skin on show. This is not effortless, not even a bit effortless. Yuuri had a moment of dazed consideration, his eyes unfocused before he’s approaching and Viktor takes in the wry grin he’s being given. “You seem a little distracted, are you okay Viktor?” Yuuri asks sweetly. Apparently they haven’t learned their lesson from the diner, Yuuri is still playing with him, but Viktor isn’t playing anymore. Viktor isn’t even sure of the game being set. But Yuuri is crowding up to him. Shirtless. Viktor retreats.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

“Viktor,” it’s a caress, purred through plump lips. “How is it possible that you subject me to your naked body every day, every single day, and you can’t handle seeing my chest?”

 

Viktor’s still backing away, still being herded by Yuuri’s body steering him into the bedroom. He had the shocking thought that this was the Yuuri he'd missed after the De Voss banquet, the forceful and stormy man who had grabbed his attention with both hands and held it. The roll of his hips as he advances is pure seduction, the light from the bathroom is playing over Yuuri’s shoulders, painting him in a contrast of shadows that Viktor can’t help but appreciate even as he back further away.

 

“You never seem to be this unsure of yourself when you’re the one shirtless Viktor.” His calves hit the sides of the bed, mattress providing no stability as he tumbles awkwardly to his back. Yuuri looms over him. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable if you were wearing a little less?” Fingers graze lightly at the hem of Viktors shirt.

 

For a second Viktor doesn't think Yuuri will do it, he think that this is a barrier they're not going to break, but then his fingers dip under the loose t-shirt , lightly grazing up his sides and dragging the fabric up with them. Viktor feels his stomach clench, his breath leaves him in one huffed out sigh, and Yuuri is manhandling him out of the t-shirt deftly. Yuuri stands back to admire his handy work, gazing down at Viktor with sharp eyes.

 

He straddles Viktor's knee- their chests are so close he can feel an inferno raging between them- balancing himself on one hand next to Viktors head as he leans down, smile still in place as he scans over Viktor's face closely. Looking for permission, for something...

 

Yuuri licks his lips. Leans in. His lips are to Viktor's ear now, he shivers in anticipation.

 

“Thanks for the shirt.” Yuuri pecks him on the cheek, and sits up looking absurdly pleased with the confusion that must be written all over Viktor's face.

 

_Thanks for the shirt?_

 

It takes him a moment. A moment that Yuuri uses to his advantage by hopping off his lap, laughing giddily and pulling the t-shirt over his head. By the time Yuuri has it over his head, Viktor is on his feet and millimetres away.

 

“Yuuri, that's my shirt.”

 

He gets a cheeky grin and a pat to his side, “How could it be your shirt Viktor? It's mine- see, I'm wearing it.” His fingers trace the skin at Viktor's hip.

 

Viktor mirrors Yuuri's earlier action, pressing close to whisper, “You look good in my clothes Yuuri.” He doesn't pull back, only presses his lips to the shell of his ear in a tiny kiss, he allows himself the indulgence of pressing his palm to Yuuri's shoulder, thumb pressed into the hollow of his collarbone and feeling the shift of muscles bunched underneath. “but I prefer you out of them.”

 

They're so close. Impossibly close.

 

Yuuri breaks first. The tilt of his head, dragging their cheeks in a slide of skin that's deliciously soft against Viktor's, it take little effort for Viktor to turn to meet him. To finally bring them together. It was a breath stealing second, soft in a way Viktor hadn't anticipated until it was there and happening. Yuuri's fingers grip his hips as their lips meet, digging in and clenching, as though Viktor was an anchoring point.

 

A brief thing, a miniscule brush of lips, like Yuuri was testing the waters to see if they were warm. He felt Yuuri’s smile against his, Viktors breath was a gentle sigh against it for a second before Yuuri met him again, chaste and ardent. Viktor reeled from it, the way Yuuri could swing from one extreme to another and drag him under the wash of feeling along with him. His fingers traced the length of Yuuri’s neck, playing idly with the strands of unruly dark hair. There was no hurry in this kiss, no desperation, this kiss was a siren’s call, dragging him further under Yuuri’s spell. He couldn’t possibly resist it.

 

“Yuuri.” He couldn’t find words, it was a promise, a plea. He was about to be lost in those dark eyes again, as they meet his their faces still so close they could have still been kissing.

 

“I know.” and he did, of course he did, Yuuri was the smart one. Why had Yuuri used him for balance when Viktor was the one being pulled under?

 

“Yuuri.” Viktor pulls away, he means to address it, to establish it, put it into words that would bind them together. He's ready to declare his heart and his soul, hand them over to Yuuri's gifted hands and follow him anywhere. He’s distracted by Yuuri’s face again- by the sight that meets him, so instead he giggles. Had he ever giggled as much in his entire existence as he had with Yuuri? “Yuuri! You have whipped cream in your eyebrows.”

 

“I have… Viktor!!” Yuuri’s expression shifts from peaceful, to bewildered, to mortification in quick succession before he blushes and shoves Viktor playfully. “You're an idiot.”

 

Viktor doesn't fight the rising feeling of warmth, he only smiles brightly in reply, pulling Yuuri back into his embrace.

***

Yuuri is tired the next morning, he feels heavy-limbed and sluggish as he pulls himself out of his and Phichits rooms, but there’s a buzzing feeling under his skin that’s fuelling his walk to campus, to Viktor. He supposes he should feel embarrassed by how forward he had been, kissing Viktor like that, but he can barely bite back the grin that is pushing at his lips. He feels as though he’s going to burst with it, this feeling that was making his steps feel like wing-beats as he enters the art building.

 

He kissed Viktor Nikiforov. _He kissed Viktor Nikiforov_. He wants to shout it at the top of his lungs. He wants to tell every person he passes.

 

Giddy. He feels giddy with the knowledge.

 

He kissed Viktor Nikiforov, and Viktor Nikiforov had kissed him. Over and over, laughing and serious, passionately and chastely. Viktor had been giggly under Yuuri’s lips and hands, they’d somehow ended up wrestling onto the sofa, with Makkachin huffing his displeasure at being unseated and tramping off to the bedroom, for peace presumably. Yuuri barely spared him a though, he was too busy mapping out the lines of Viktor’s neck with the tip of his nose, pressing his lips to his jaw, Viktor was arching against him, hands roaming his chest.

 

He’s laying out his supplies with hands that are shaky with the absurd amount of energy buzzing through him. He needs to get a grip on himself, he needs to calm the hell down and get his thoughts stilled. Easier said than done when Viktor is passing him in that ridiculous blue robe, he feels a fleeting glance of fingers at his hip before Viktor is disrobing in front of him, Yuuri barely suppressed an eye roll at the salacious wink Viktor sends him. Instead he settles for giving Viktor a flat look from behind the easel, sparking another brilliant smile from the man. It was the same smile he’d received when Viktor had discovered just how sensitive Yuuri’s nipples were.

 

He steadies himself with deep breaths, concentrating on Viktor’s artfully arranged limbs while his thoughts swirl.

 

He’d been forward last night in a way he wasn’t usually. In every other sexual encounter he’d had he’d always been the one catching up, fumbling away layers with nervous fingers, but until the moment he’d emerged from the bathroom last night he hadn’t even considered that Viktor was actually interested. Yes, in the first few days Viktor had been handsy, and openly checking him out, but the other man had cooled his approach quickly. Yuuri had simply assumed Viktor had lost interest or someone else had caught his attention, but the way Viktor had reacted to Yuuri’s body had suddenly thrown his regard into sharp relief.

 

Yuuri couldn’t help himself but to push back, Viktor had gone so willingly under him. It had been the most heady kind of high, watching Viktor crumble beneath his hands and body, and he wanted more. There was however the slight issue that they were in a room full of people, and he was meant to be tracing Viktor’s lazy silhouette.

 

His hands were steady as they went to work, capturing the way Viktor reclined gently on the pillows. He fought down the way his mind ticked away happily as he outlined the shape of Viktors calf, but it was a losing battle.

 

It was all too real now, the daydreams he’d been cherishing (and more recently guiltily enjoying with a voyeuristic edge) were become real. He had traced the lines of those muscles with his fingers, pressed lips and tongue to the shoulder Viktor was watching him from behind, felt the heat of Viktor straining against his jeans beneath him, had moved against him teasingly. His imagination had never prepared him for the feel of Viktors hands on his skin, the sound of hitched breaths as his tongue played over a peaked nipple, travelling over ribs with a whisper of a moan pulled out of the other man. His daydreams may not have prepared him for the reality of Viktor at his mercy, flushed and pliant, but they had definitely familiarised Yuuri with the tell tale pooling of heat in his groin.

 

He switched out his pencil for a brush after ten minutes, and spent the next hour pointedly trying not to stare at Viktor’s dick, a monumental effort which he achieved with incredible restraint.

 

Viktor is practically skipping when he makes his way over at the end of the session, face alight with a bright smile “Yuuri! Let me see!” His exuberance is catching, and Yuuri grins back easily as Viktor slides into his usual position behind him.

 

It’s amazing how quickly Viktor can disarm him, ten minutes ago if the man had been within Yuuri’s reach he would have been hard pressed to keep his hands to himself, but Viktor is warm and happy against him. Yuuri almost feels a second of guilt for the voyeuristic turn of his mind, until Viktor’s hands scoot under the hem of his shirt and play lightly over his stomach.

 

“Yuuri you paint me so beautifully,” he’s nuzzling at Yuuri’s neck now, it’s soft and gentle in a way that makes Yuuri melt into the embrace, “I hope one day you’ll let me use you as a model. I’d love to show you all the ways you inspire me.”  

 

“When?” It isn’t even a question of being willing, for Viktor Yuuri would do anything.

 

“You want to?” Viktor eyes him, smile getting impossibly brighter. Yuuri can only nod when Viktor tightens his arms around him in a bear hug, squeezing and lifting him. “Are you free this weekend? I can have you at my place, or if you’re more comfortable I can ask Celestino if we can use the studio.”  
  
“Your place will be fine.” Yuuri assures him one he’s let out of the hug and regained his breath, “We can do tomorrow if you like, I’m free all day-”

 

Viktor kisses him. Their teeth connect and lips slide, but Viktor is all enthusiasm, righting the kiss before Yuuri can pull away and succumb to the blush that’s crawling up his cheeks. He responds before he can stop himself, hands travelling to Viktor’s shoulders and pulling him closer. Its quick and messy, but Yuuri can’t bring himself to care.

  
“Thank you, Yuuri!” Viktor pulls away, but keeps their forehead pressed together. “I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the milkshake thing was a true story... :') Please be respectful of fellow patrons and don't whip cream at their heads.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this senseless smut ;)

 

Viktor skips to the door when the buzzer goes, he’s been haphazardly tidying the apartment and still has two books and a blanket stuffed under his elbow as he lets Yuuri into the building with a happy, “Come right up, it’s open!”

 

They’d refined the plan for Yuuri’s modelling debut over coffee, and organised times over text. He’d never been so excited to get started before. Back in St. Petersburg he’d had a few regular models he’d used, professionals he had a good rapport with, but they were there simply as a reference if it struck the mood and he wanted the company. The familiarity with the situation didn’t settle his nerves though, before it had always been business, and this was anything but. This was getting Katsuki Yuuri exclusively for an entire day to do with what he would, and he had a hundred ideas he’d tried to capture in sketchbooks and on the back of napkins, but he could never do justice. He was feeling on edge, a little out of sorts, but not from nervousness.

 

Ever since their escape from the diner there had been something bubbling in his chest, at first he thought it was the hysterical laughter he couldn’t tramp down in the hole-in-the-wall, then he thought it was anticipation as Yuuri had advanced on him shirtless, then desire as their lips had met- but it wasn’t disappearing. It was a heavy weight of happiness that made him want to clasp Yuuri’s hand in his and kiss the back of it, to run his hands through the man’s thick dark hair, that made him feel like dancing as he made his way to view Yuuri’s canvas at the end of yesterday’s session. The feeling didn’t dull when they were apart, and only seemed to steal his breath at odd moments- while he was walking Makka last night, when he looked himself over in the mirror and settled on looking handsomely rumpled in his painting gear. 

 

It was hard to rationalise, this sudden incorporation of Katsuki Yuuri in his life, somehow he found himself ever more thinking about Yuuri. His processes had switched up a gear, rather than the whimsical wondering of his rumination in St. Petersburg, or the focused attention of only days ago, he was now thinking in terms of the man himself. His smile and his laugh, the way he ducked his head before he would offer an opinion on even the smallest thing, the way he would huff out a laugh when Viktor and Makkachin tumbled around on the grass in the park. Viktor was still reconciling the Yuuri he knew in the studio with the man who pulled moans from him with ease only nights ago, and he found himself marvelling over the sheer luck that had allowed him to meet so much of Yuuri.

 

Yuuri let himself in with a quick knock to the door as the only warning of his arrival, “Hi.”

 

“Hi!” Viktor hurries over, blanket still precarious under his arm, but stopping short with no idea what to say. He wants to kiss Yuuri hello, fold him into a hug and bury his face in the man's neck. He’s hesitating though, they haven’t put labels on this thing, haven’t broached the subject of  _ them _ as a thing, if they are a thing? There’s a sudden chasing of circulating thoughts in his head that's making his mouth unreasonably unresponsive. “Uh.” Yuuri sends him an amused look, apparently enjoying seeing Viktor unbalanced in his presence once more then pulls him into a hug, claiming a kiss that pulls him straight out of his head and back into reality in milliseconds.

 

“So, where would you like me?” Yuuri asks with a cheeky grin.

 

“I think the bedroom would be the most comfortable for you-”

 

“Viktor, buy a guy a drink first!” Yuuri throws him a scandalised look that’s slightly ruined by the way his mouth is twisting into a grin.

 

“I could have you in the kitchen if you’d prefer.”

 

“How about the bathroom?” Yuuri toes his shoes off quickly, then throws his arms back around Viktor’s shoulders once he straightens up. 

 

“Too cramped, I’d love to get you on the couch.” There’s a playful light in Yuuri’s eyes as he looks up at Viktor, they fall to this easy flirtation so quickly.

 

“So soon after last time?” Yuuri is pushing again, Viktor brain splutters at that yet he finds himself pushing back.

 

“If I’d had my way you would never have left.” It was true, he’d pouted and whined and begged and kissed Yuuri’s protests away, but one of them had to be reasonable and it had been getting late… 

 

“Mmh, bedroom it is then, the couch seems to be upsetting you today.” Yuuri drops his embrace and makes his way towards the bedroom, once again Viktor is trying to catch up to Yuuri, who’s dropping his jacket on the back of the couch as he passes it, finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head before it’s balled and thrown onto the couch to join the jacket. By the time Viktor’s caught up to the smaller man he’s in the bedroom peeling his socks off and dropping them carelessly on the floor. He deigns to acknowledge Viktor only once he's hooking his fingers into his well-worn jeans, with a measuring look as he looks to him for permission to remove the last shred of his clothing. Yuuri is lean and muscled in a way he could never have guessed, he always swamped himself in sweaters and rumpled jeans, but he stands at the end of Viktor’s pristine bed completely at ease, and waiting without an ounce of embarrassment. 

 

“Yuuri, wait-” Delightful though it would be to have Yuuri naked in his bed sooner rather than later, Viktor had been inspired by Yuuri a hundred times in the last day. “Come here. Do you mind standing for me, rather than sitting?”

 

Yuuri makes no complaints as he's dragged into the doorway, letting Viktor arrange him carefully with his right shoulder braced against the doorframe, his left hand positioned delicately peaked on his collarbone. Yuuri is watching him silently as he grasps his chin, angling it downwards ever so slightly, Viktor’s thumb plays over his lips for just a second pulling a smile from both of them before he pulls back to assess the vignette.

 

“Beautiful.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t reply, but the small smile is fixed. Viktor runs his eyes over the lines of Yuuri’s silhouette, pleased with the fall of light over Yuuri’s torso. He pulls his phone out, primarily to play some music- he selects a playlist he’d made after their fateful first meeting at the De Voss award, a mix of light fluffy love songs and creeping bass heavy songs that had reminded Viktor of Yuuri’s hips against his- he opens the camera app, snapping a few pictures. 

 

“For reference, or posterity?” 

 

“Both.” Viktor smiles as he slides behind the easel. Yuuri rolls his eyes.

 

Viktor falls into the practiced motions of creating easily, he’s so focuses on capturing Yuuri’s figure on the canvas that he barely notices the music playing, sketching Yuuri onto the canvas is a quick and easy process. The only time the spell breaks is the few seconds when he’s tracing the lines of Yuuri’s face, it pulls him out of focus. Yuuri is still watching him from under sooty lashes and for all that the stance and composure of Yuuri’s body drips with languid grace, capturing the hidden sensuality Yuuri displays in bursts of brilliance, his eyes and smile are warm as he looks at Viktor. 

 

The heavy weight of happiness that has been spilling through him overflows, it pours from him in floods as he switches to brushes and paints. It’s still brimming over when he notices Yuuri beginning to shift in discomfort, transferring his weight from the ball of his planted foot to the heel and back again minutely. 

 

“Are you okay? Should we take a break?” Yuuri shifts again, pose finally dropping and fingers rubbing at his right shoulder.

 

“I’m a little numb yeah,” He still has that heart melting smile as he makes his way over to Viktor, “Am I allowed to see the Great Viktor Nikiforov’s work?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, stepping around the easel and pulling Viktor’s arms around his waist as he takes in the canvas. Viktor watches for a minute as Yuuri takes in the piece, it isn’t much-yet, but it’ll take another hour or so to complete. Yuuri’s image on the canvas is caught in the act of stretching, only half emerged under Viktor’s brush. The smaller man is wide-eyed looking at the canvas, lips parted.

 

“Well, does it get the Katsuki Yuuri stamp of approval?” He feels the tiny trickle of nerves when Yuuri doesn’t answer immediately, his hands travel to Yuuri’s jaw bringing their faces together. “Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri kisses him closing the distance easily, mouth finding his in a firm press of lips that Viktor can’t help but return, opening under Yuuri’s tongue in seconds. It feels like a claim as Yuuri’s tongue plays against his in a slick slide, he’s turned in Viktor’s arms, pulling Viktor closer with the hands that bury themselves in his hair. Yuuri is arching into him, naked chest pressing against his paint-smeared t-shirt, lips still insistent and possessive as Viktor fights for his breath. This man may well be the death of him, he’s tugging at Viktor’s hair before his hands move down his chest and under the hem of the shirt, pushing at the offending item while simultaneously attempting to pull Viktor even closer.

 

Viktor breaks the kiss, he has to. His chest is heaving and he needs just a millimeter of space between them, if only to remove the shirt that seems so distasteful to Yuuri. “I’m taking that as a yes?” He manages before Yuuri is on him once more, fingers digging into his hip bones and lips finding the spot on Viktor’s neck that had been thoroughly abused during their time on the couch. Viktor can feel the heat pooling, his ragged jeans feel aggressively tight over the press of his growing erection, his body responding to Yuuri’s fevered touches in moments.

 

“Yes.” Yuuri grazes his teeth over a collarbone, “How could you even question it?” His tongue follows his teeth for a second. Yuuri’s enthusiasm is catching, Viktor finds his nails dragging the length of the man’s spine, Yuuri arching into him and pressing them from hip to shoulder in a rush of contact that had Viktor throwing his head back in a gasp. They’re moving against each other in a twisting of hips that has Viktor rutting against the Yuuri lewdly, breathing his assent to the ceiling as the man thumbs his nipple, sparking the embers of Viktors arousal into full blaze. 

 

There’s a thrumming beat flowing through the speakers, heavy with drums that mirror the thumping of Viktor’s heart in his chest, a stuttering pounding overlaid with piano and violin in a soaring melody. It swims around the gasping breaths being dragged from him, Yuuri’s hips fitting against him in a mockery of lovemaking. This isn’t tender or sweet, it’s base and carnal in a way Viktor is all too willing to throw himself into headfirst. Yuuri’s lips and hands are everywhere and Viktor is all too willing to hold on and surrender himself to the attention.

 

Yuuri is rock hard against his thigh already, hip pressing into Viktor’s erection in a grind that has him moaning, curling into Yuuri’s neck and pressing himself closer, his paint covered fingers are digging into Yuuri grasping the younger man and holding on as Yuuri moves against him in a grind that harkens back to their banquet duet on the dance floor. Unlike the De Voss awards Yuuri is groaning against him, hands working from his chest down to hips in a clutching grip until his fingers find the hem of Viktors jeans. He pulls Viktor into another searing kiss, one hand still touching but not bypassing the line of fabric, their hips are still shifting against each other and Viktor is desperate,  _ desperate _ .

 

“Please, Yuuri…” it comes out as a gasp against his lover’s lips, one second of lost contact before their lips are sealed again. Yuuri is suddenly slowing down, easing back.

 

“You’re sure?” Yuuri sounds breathless, his face is flushed and lips are parted over his gasping breaths. Viktor can only nod, he can’t put into words what he needs from the man before him, his extensive vocabulary is failing him. He pulls Yuuri back to him, lips and tongue announcing his intentions in the only way he can.

 

It’s blissful relief once his zipper is loosened, and he hears Yuuri’s breath swooping through his nose as his fingers find Viktor’s erection. The grip is loose and rough, Yuuri’s thumb plays along the length of him in an exploratory sweep before his fingers tighten around him, pressing the hard flesh for a second before moving over Viktor’s cock. His grip is firm, working him over with deft fingers that know just where to touch, where to apply pressure. The noise Yuuri pulls out of him is frantic and needy in a way Viktor has never managed before, he’s wringing out groans and sighs between kisses like it’s his mission to see Viktor fall apart in seconds, it was perfect, or near perfect. 

 

Perfect would have been Yuuri’s cock aligned with his, or its weight against his tongue, Viktor pushes up into Yuuri’s fist at the thought, he brings his hands to the button of Yuuri’s pants. He breaks away from Yuuri’s mouth pressing his face against his shoulder, Yuuri mirrors his action and Viktor knows he’s watching his hand move over his dick in a rough motion that makes his toes curl. “Can I?”,  There’s a second’s hesitation that slows the progress of Yuuri’s hand before he nods into Viktor’s shoulder, he hums his permission with his gaze fixed on the movement of his fingers. 

 

Yuuri seems a little put out when Viktor extracts himself from his grasp, but doesn’t protest as Viktor takes to his knees, he licks his lips reflexively at the image still pervading his mind, on his knees with his lips wrapped around Yuuri’s cock. He feels as though he’s being ruled by the most primal parts of his brains, spurred on by the fire alight in Yuuri’s dark eyes as he watches Viktor fumble at the fastening of his low slung jeans. His fingers which had been so sure when capturing the man’s image on canvas were clumsy, shaky with the desire to pull Yuuri down to his level, his frustration was almost getting the better of him before the button finally gives way. 

 

The fabric falls away with the barest push, only one last barrier between his mouth and the tantalising bulge in Yuuri’s boxers. It’s so close there’s saliva pooling around his tongue but he savors the moment, just for a second as he skims his fingers over the skin of Yuuri’s thighs. He wants to notice everything, the darkening hint of hair leading into the elastic of Yuuri’s underwear, the shift of muscles under his hands, the sighing breath Yuuri takes in as Viktor looks up from his place on the floor. Yuuri had been still above him as he worked at his pants, as Viktor looks up at him his left hand finds Viktors hair brushing stray strands from his eyes, the right pushes at his underwear, fishing out his cock and thumbing the head, his eyes fixed on Viktor. 

 

There’s a precipice they’re stood at, eyes locked. Viktor pushes into Yuuri’s grip and licks his lips, waiting for Yuuri to get the message. Yuuri tracks the progress of his tongue, eyes darkening, still thumbing his erection slowly. “You look so good on your knees for me Viktor.” The praise tickles against Viktor’s skin in a caress that fills him with bubbling warmth. He pushes into the hand at his head in answer, glowing. Yuuri is biting his lip, speculatively watching Viktor basking under his hand.

 

“Please, Yuuri. Call me Vitya?” He had to ask, he wants to hear it fall from the other man’s lips while he falls apart. Yuuri strokes his hair from his eyes again with a gentle hand.

 

“Vitya.” It rolls from his mouth with the smallest hint of his low accent flattening the syllables. He smiles warmly down, before the hand in Viktor’s hair increases its grip, the hand drops from his hair, travelling to his jaw, “Would you like to taste my cock Vitya?”

 

God does he want to. He nods into Yuuri’s palm.

 

Viktor licks his lips again, Yuuri’s cock is a hairsbreadth from his lips now and he’s been fantasising about this for months… Beads of precome assist the first slide of Viktors tongue against the head of Yuuri’s dick as he takes it into his mouth, wetted lips closing around it in a lewd approximation of a kiss. He groans around the taste of Yuuri on his tongue, hand finding the shaft and coming to greet his lips as he worked his mouth to meet them. Yuuri was thick, stretching his lips and jaw wide as the man hissed out a breath above him, Viktor works the length with swift strokes.  

 

There’s no preamble or hesitation as Viktor takes him in. In his wildest darkest fantasies he’s planned this moment, he’s thought about it with his dick in his hand as he works himself to completion. He wants to pull Yuuri down to his most primitive urges, to whirl him into a frenzy of need alike the one he’s fallen to, and if he can do that with hands and mouth alone he’s going to ruin him. Yuuri’s head is thrown back, chest heaving as Viktor pulls his name from Yuuri’s mouth with a twist of his hand and a curl of his tongue.

 

Viktor's cock is hard and heavy between his legs, leaking beads of precome as he opens his throat around Yuuri, dropping his grip on the man’s cock as he lowers himself towards the dark thatch of trimmed hair at the base of his penis. Yuuri’s hands find his hair again, twisting it through his fingers as he groans, eyes fixed on his cock disappearing into Viktor’s mouth.

 

Viktor isn’t done yet, he pulls off Yuuri’s cock long enough to coat the first two fingers of his left hand with the pooling saliva under his tongue, keeping his eyes on yuuri as he snakes a hand behind him. He’s been more than preoccupied with thoughts of Yuuri for eight months, he’s dreamed up every possibility for them, and as he breaches himself with a moan around the cock he’s lapping at he hopes Yuuri is following.

 

“Fuck- Vitya.” He’s watching Viktor’s fingers working with wide eyes. Viktor knows his body, knows just how far he can push himself before he’ll break, the feeling of being filled from throat to ass is pretty close to breaking point. The saliva is running dry before he’s working the second finger in, thankfully Yuuri’s fingers tighten painfully for a moment before he guides him off his cock, “Holy shit.” He’s dropping to his knees in front of Viktor, pulling their bodies together, claiming his mouth and jostling the fingers out of Viktor’s ass in his haste.

 

“Tell me what you want Vitya.” He’s pushing the words against Viktor’s lips, hands sweeping and gripping every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

 

“I want you to fuck me- I want you-” Yuuri hauls him into a bruising kiss by the shoulders.

 

“Bed.” It’s a command he’s more than happy to follow, his legs feel shaky beneath him as they drag each other upright but somehow they make it across the room together, still tangled in kisses. Yuuri’s weight bears them down onto the mattress again, but this time he’s bracketing Viktor under him with legs and hands, pressing kisses into the sensitive skin at his neck. Yuuri pulls himself away, rummaging through the bedside drawer hurriedly at Viktor’s request, its seconds between his leaving and returning but Viktor is so desperate for release, desperate for Yuuri that he clings onto him the second he gets back to the bed.

 

“Please please please…” 

 

“Hush Vitya, I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.” Yuuri is looming over him again, smiling softly as he trails his hands down Viktor’s ribs. “Let me take care of you Vitya.”

 

“Yes, yes please Yuuri-” He’s cut off with a press of lips to his, soft and sure. Yuuri pulls away from him again, searching the already rumpled blankets for the lube and condom, but he keeps one hand on Viktor’s ribs, fingers grounding him with tiny caresses. He returns once more to kisses, soft and sweet and glancing from his lips to Viktor’s skin in the lightest of touches. It’s chaste and ardent in a way that Viktor hadn’t anticipated in his fantasies. Yuuri moves down his body like he’s worshipping it, reverent to every inch of skin he peruses, dipping kisses and praise as he settled between Viktor’s thighs. Viktor was coming back to himself, no longer desperate, but still wanting as he braced himself on his elbows, the snap of the lubes cap audible in the relative silence of the bedroom.

 

“Vitya…” Yuuri’s regarding him, eyes sparkling with happiness, “You’re beautiful.”

 

“Yuuri I-” He doesn’t get to finish his thought. Yuuri’s fingers are slick against his entrance, teasing against him, working the lube with dipping twisting digits. He’s being watched intently as Yuuri works his first finger in, barely any resistance to its slick slide. Viktor sinks into it, urging him on, begging for more.

 

He sighs into the feeling of the fingers that ease into him one at a time with practiced motions. Viktor lets himself relax into it, lets Yuuri lull him away with touches far more gentle than the ones he’d given himself ten minutes ago. Yuuri peppers his thighs and hips with kisses, nipping at sensitive spots and pulling moans and sighs from Viktor. He’s three fingers deep, hips twitching against the precise ministrations of his lover. “Yuuri, Yuuri-” It’s like a mantra and a promise, he’s being pulled and buffeted by the force that is Katsuki Yuuri, and he doesn’t want to come back up, only to be dragged further under the waves. 

 

Yuuri is leaning over him, “What do you want Vitya?” another finger slips in- he’s boneless and relaxed as the smaller man kisses him deeply. The pumping of Yuuri’s hand picks up pace, eyes glinting as he reaches for the condom. Viktor tears it from his grip, exhaling shakily as he reaches for the man’s cock, fingers shaky as he rolls the condom over him. Yuuri is breathless, erection sheathed in latex and ready at his entrance, grabbing and drizzling more lube over them with finger’s that slip easily from Viktor.

 

“You. You Yuuri, please, I need you.” It’s not as needy as it would have been had Yuuri not taken the reigns, he’s sighing with relief when their bodies meet. He pulls Yuuri into another kiss, his hips lifting against him and bearing down to meet the first press of Yuuri into him. The moment Yuuri is fully seated Viktor is hooking his ankles, holding him in place to savor another of their firsts, he’s relaxed and languidly enjoying the feeling of being filled.

 

“Vitya, I-” Yuuri’s arms ar trembling at his shoulders, the restraint he’s shown is phenomenal, but there’s a misting of perspiration at his temples, Viktor pushes the hair from his eyes, pressing his lips to Yuuri’s. It’s a tender moment, and once more Viktor is savoring it. If Yuuri doesn’t move soon he’s going to say something disgustingly soppy, or vulgar. 

 

He’s saved the embarrassment when the smaller man finally puts him out of his misery, a steady rhythm of his hips that Viktor gladly matches, it’s a slow and deep meeting of their bodies, a drag against his prostate that has Viktor breathlessly chanting Yuuri’s name, even as Yuuri buries his face in Viktor’s shoulder. If Viktor was being sentimental in this moment, he’d say that Yuuri makes love like he paints- tenderly- but Viktor is too busy planting his feet and finding purchase to fuck back into their momentum.  He can feel the tightening pull of orgasm, cock trapped between their bodies catching minimal friction, but Yuuri is pulling him closer and closer with each filthy grind of his hips.

 

The needy relentless creature of lust that had embodied Viktor had gone, lost to the tides of Yuuri’s hands and lips as he’d pulled him under his spell, but somewhere along the way Yuuri himself had been swamped, he’s gasping and shaking, even as he fucks into Viktor. “Yuuri…” There’s no response, only a hitching of breath at the second that Viktor lifts his hips, twisting their joined bodies and rolling them until Yuuri is beneath him. 

 

“Vitya, I’m close- I...” Viktor doesn’t offer him the chance to finish his sentence this time, reseating himself above Yuuri with a shaking hand planted on his chest and taking his aching and neglected cock in hand. Yuuri’s hands grip his thighs as he grinds down onto his dick, “Yes. Fuck- Vitya.” Yuuri meets him thrust for thrust, sweat slicked thighs slipping, fingers joining his as they pull each other mindlessly into climax, Viktor’s release coating their hands as he wrings Yuuri out with a last juddering thrust of his hips. 

  
It’s overwhelming, twisting and heavy, it pulls every muscle in Viktor’s body taught and he clenches his teeth around the cry that tears from him, eyes forced closed and chin falling to his chest. Yuuri is less careful, throwing his head back into the mattress as his back bows, chest straining under Viktor’s hand and crying out loudly. They hold for a scant few seconds, immersed in feeling, immersed in each other. Another perfect silhouette, Viktor thinks vaguely, before his elbow gives way beneath him, Yuuri’s arms darting to gather him to his chest, fingers brushing gently over his back. The stillness of the room, Yuuri’s warm chest, and the mingling of their slowing breaths lull him drowsily into a heavy, dreamless sleep.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew 3,000 words of smut, go team! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

Katsuki Yuuri is good at very few things.

 

He objectively knows that he’s likeable, that people tend to find him sweet and unassuming. He knows that he’s funny, in the right circumstances with the right people he can even be hilarious (according to Phichit, who’s opinion on this is immovable no matter how much Yuuri protests it). He knows that his art is good, not amazing or award-winning, but good. He is also incredibly good at beating himself up, circular self-doubt, and anxiety in general.

 

He’s never had delusions about himself, or his abilities, he’s striven to be logical and unbiased about himself.  This approach had at some point gained momentum, steam-rollering through natural reticence and socially acceptable reserve, into self-deprecation and monumental esteem issues. He was intensely aware of his shortcomings, assessing of his faults, and critical of his failings. 

 

To say he was surprised that he awoke in the hazy afternoon sunlight, sprawled on Viktor Nikiforov’s bed, naked and curled around the man without a single negative thought or alarm bell ringing was an understatement. He woke with Viktor plastered to his chest, bright hair fanned across his shoulder and tickling at his neck.

 

His anxiety has nothing to say about it.

 

His mind is oddly still while he catalouges the tonal differences between the shade of Viktor’s eyelashes and the shade of the hair under his nose, the blonde shifting from golden to platinum. His features, usually so animated and bright with emotion looked unusually fragile in sleep, as though the act of resting had erased the sharp edges and striking bone structure. He was breathtakingly and achingly delicate, in that moment. 

 

It harkened back to another time in Yuuri’s life, one spent dreaming idly during classes of perfect Viktor Nikiforov, staring up at the mounting collection on his white walls and hoping and wishing just once for his luck to turn, to be able to meet his idol and impress him. It was an old dream, one he’d abandoned in the temperate warmth of his childhood bedroom, but he remembers hours of looking up at Viktor’s image, studying the swoop of cheekbones and bow of his mouth, capturing it with pencil and charcoal in long forgotten sketchbooks. 

 

Back then he wouldn’t have possibly dreamed this big, or imagined such a stark reality. Yet here he was, lying in bed, staring at Viktor. Only this time Viktor was cuddled snugly to his chest, breath playing across the hollow of his collarbone. Viktor, was honest and real and dorky and messy, impetuous with no forethought for the future, following his impulses wherever they led him. Viktor had captured his lips and not let him go, captured his most intimate desires and revealed them without stopping for breath, just as Viktor had captured his image on canvas with such careful attention. 

 

Viktor had been so eager to fall under the force of Yuuri’s passion, or perhaps it had been Yuuri who had been dragged down by the lustful need in Viktor. He hadn’t been able to help himself, he’d been half-hard under his jeans while Viktor had captured him on canvas, it was a dream come to life and Viktor’s eyes on him had been like searing touches. Was this how Viktor had felt every time he’d modelled for Yuuri?

 

The kiss had been meant as a thank you, for being there, for being Viktor. He hadn’t expected… and yet he couldn’t regret a second of it. 

 

Yuuri was usually the one trailing behind in his sexual encounters, but there was something about Viktor that allowed him to be bold, to put aside his doubt and simply go with the flow in a way he’d never imagined he could. They complimented each other, they fit. Something in Viktor allowed Yuuri to be comfortable in his skin, comfortable enough to reach out and take what he wanted, and Viktor had been there wanting more than anything to be taken.

 

It had felt inevitable.

 

Natural. 

 

It was just so natural to mirror the man as he threw himself bodily into everything he did. Yuuri had been so far gone before they’d ever met, it would be so easy to-

 

“It’s rude to stare.” Viktor is squinting up at him, his focus almost completely off. Yuuri can’t help the startled noise that pushes out of his chest, nor can he stop his blush, “You seem to have enjoyed looking at me, I’m sorry I had to interrupt.”

 

“Viktor?”  The man pops his chin up with a bright smile, hands setting one on top of the other to get a better look at Yuuri from his sternum.

 

“Well, I would love to return your regard Mr. Katsuki, it seems to me that you have had your fill of staring at me and now it’s my turn.” his eyes are gleaming mischievously, “You always seem to have the advantage, it’s my turn to stare at you, and you look so delectable all debauched and naked.”

 

“Well you have insisted on being naked in more than half of the time we’ve spent together, if anything I can’t be blamed for staring when it’s your job to be stared at, and you insist on being naked.”

 

“Still, I deserve to even the Nikiforov-Katsuki nudity balance a little in my favor.” 

 

“Katsuki-Nikiforov sounds better than Nikiforov-Katsuki.”

 

“Excuse me?” Viktor looks horrified, brows coming together and lips twisting. Yuuri suffers a second of flooding doubt before Viktor cracks a smile, “As the eldest, surely my name comes first?”

 

“Katsuki-Nikiforov is in alphabetical order, and it sounds better.” Yuuri points our, returning the smile that he’s receiving, it sends a warm bubble of happiness careening through his chest, rebounding around his ribcage.

 

“I still think Nikiforov should come first-”

 

“If coming first is all you’re worried about, then I think we already dealt with that.” Perhaps if he punches himself in the mouth he’ll be able to stop running it off at Viktor every time they speak? 

 

Viktor laughs lightly, “Hmm, yes we did. Most enjoyably too.” Viktor nuzzles into his neck, pressing a tiny kiss to his adam's apple, “However this is a very important subject, close to my heart, I can’t allow us to get side-tracked.”

 

“Your name is?”

 

“No, the nudity balance- now hold still, I need to- Yuuri stop squirming!” 

 

After a naked tickle fight which devolves into wrestling, then a round of playful making out, Yuuri decides that he might just be good at being around Viktor Nikiforov, he might even add it to his list.

 

***

 

”Tell me a secret.” They’re in the park again, watching Makkachin gambolling across the grass from the bench they’ve claimed and the spring air is gently mussing their hair. Their fingers are entwined and Yuuri’s thumb is brushing across his skin lightly. “Something I couldn’t read on the internet, something just for me.”

 

Yuuri’s smiling up at him, eyes bright.

 

A secret?

 

Viktor doesn’t have secrets, he’s famously useless at keeping his mouth shut, and his opinions to himself. Christophe has accused him on many occasions of having no brain to mouth filter at all, and Yakov has lectured him a million times that he needs to be more careful with the press, he’s even suffered the regret of upsetting many a peer with his unplanned abruptness. Yet there’s a stirring in his chest, a heaviness to the happy weight that is catching on his ribs and sticking- he does have one secret.

 

One monumental secret he’s been ruminating, been thinking over in the dark nights alone when Yuuri’s scent is drifting from his pillow but Yuuri himself has already departed back to his roommate and his degree. He doesn’t know how to begin to put it into words, this cloying sticky feeling of need.

 

_ I don’t want to leave. I can’t face the thought of being apart from you. When I’m alone in bed without you it feels like I’ve lost a part of myself and I hate it. I want to stay here with you. I want you to want me to stay too.  _

 

_ The days are trickling away from me and it feels like- _

 

“You’re going to do yourself some serious damage, thinking that hard. Your poor head isn’t used to it.” 

 

_ It feels like I’m going to lose everything.  _

 

_ It feels like my chest is caving in whenever I think about going to Russia. _

 

_ I feel… like you brought life back to me, like I was dreaming for so long and you woke me up and showed me the world. _

 

_ I look at you and don’t ever want to look away. I want to keep you in my life, because you’re already in my heart and I can’t imagine my days without you. _

 

“Okay, you don’t have to if it’s that difficult.” Yuuri looks torn between amusement and worry, the worry seems to win out though, because Viktors fingers are closing tightly around Yuuri’s hand and he doesn’t quite know how to stop the sudden need to spill his thoughts. “Viktor? Are you okay? I was only joking.”

 

“I’m fine.” He’s not- the words are threatening to fall out- it’s too big, too much and far too soon. He can’t stop the swirling of his thoughts, but he can definitely stop his mouth from running off. He offers Yuuri a smile, reassuring and bright before kissing him firmly. 

 

“You’re not fine, but if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to push.” Yurri brushes his fingers over his jaw in a soothing motion, its grounding and Viktor sighs out some of the tension he’s holding. 

 

“Sorry, it’s silly.” 

 

_ It’s not silly. Its everything.  _

 

“I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Yuuri’s arms are around him, and he’s relaxing into the embrace, mind still racing ahead of him. 

 

_ I don't want to lose you.  _

***

It has been said that Viktor Nikiforov is something of a masochist, mostly by Yakov, often by Christophe. For the first time in his life, Viktor can’t help but agree.

 

He’s hiding under a blanket on his couch, listening to the same song on repeat. Every word is significant. Every time the crescendo falls his heart breaks a little. Yet he keeps the song on repeat, because he’s a masochist, apparently.

 

_ Mon coeur s’ouvre à ta voix _

 

_ Reponds ma tendresse _

 

_ Verse-moi l’ivresse  _

 

He’s not sure what to do, he has no idea, it’s been three days and he’s been stuck in place.

 

He’s been swinging between elation at his discovery and impending doom of his departure like a pendulum, he wants to call Yuuri, to tell him the wonderful news, to pull him into his arms and never let him leave. Then he realises that he doesn’t know if Yuuri wants to be there, if Yuuri could possibly return these feelings, if Yuuri wants him. He could ask, it could be that simple if he wanted it to be.

 

Christophe was less than helpful, as usual. He’d told Viktor to quit whining and talk to Yuuri. 

 

Viktor didn’t know  _ how _ to talk about this. He feels unbalanced everytime he tries to think of the words.

 

_ Yuuri I think I’m in love with you _

 

How could he know? He’s been in lust, been infatuated, and been the centrepoint of other people’s desires, but he’s never felt  _ this _ . He’s never felt like he’s unravelling at the seams at the simple thought of being parted from someone. He’s never felt this much happiness or joy, affection and lust, it’s a heady feeling, overwhelming and powerful enough to bring him to his knees. If he knew it was mutual, if he  _ knew _ that Yuuri felt the same way… 

 

His heart thumps in his chest hard. 

 

How would he even bring it up? How could he begin to put it into words? How do people live with this everyday?

 

Surely there aren’t enough words in any of the languages he’s fluent in to encompass the way he feels for Yuuri. Yesterday he’d flicked through every book on his shelves, trying to find something- anything that could begin to illustrate his love. That’s how he’d ended up here, on the couch, curled around Makkachin with this damn song on repeat.

 

He stares at the darken screen of his cellphone, willing it to ring, willing Yuuri to come to him and settle these jittering thoughts with his warm smile and warm lips.

 

The screen lights up, but it’s not Yuuri. It’s Yakov. It takes him a surprised moment to swipe it to answer.

 

“Yakov?” Yakov hasn’t willingly called him in two months, still disapproving of Viktor’s sudden disappearance from St. Petersburg. The row had been heavy, and his manager had been damning in his anger.

 

“No, idiot. I stole his phone.” Yuri Plisetski? The new child prodigy. Viktor had been subjected to Plisetski’s scorn during the last De Voss press tour, and it had been quite the learning curve. He was used to the tortured artist trope, but he’d never met anyone who embodied it quite as full, nor as aggressively.

 

“Yura?” Why the hell was Yuri stealing Yakov’s phone? He has a second of worry before he hears Yakov’s voice in the background. Nothing terribly wrong if he’s well enough to be yelling at Yuri.

 

“Don’t call me that!” Still angry then, brilliant. As if Viktor hasn’t got enough on his plate without having a moody teenager interrupting his brooding. 

 

“Fine. Yuri, what do you want. I’m in the middle of something.”

 

“No you’re not, you’re probably stuck on the couch like an idiot still mooning over that ham-fisted piglet you’ve been obsessing over.”

 

Wow. 

 

“Okay you got me.”

 

“Huh. Too easy, you’re getting old and predictable Nikiforov.”

 

“Did you call to insult me, or to enrage Yakov? Either way you’re succeeding in both.” He can still hear Yakov yelling in the background, something about being too old to deal with tantrums.

 

“Are you doing Boss this year?” Viktor can hear the scowl even if he can’t see it.

 

“No. I haven’t prepared anything anyway.”

 

“What about De Voss?”

 

“No.” Yuri huffs a laugh, it’s a dry thing that attacks all of the soft parts of Viktor’s pride like a knife.

 

“So you’re just going to roll over and give up?”

 

“I’m not giving up I’m busy-”

 

“Wallowing, over the pig. Yes you mentioned.” He exhales heavily. “I wanted to go up against you, I can’t believe you and the piglet are letting me down like this. I’ve been working my ass off and neither of you are putting anything forward.  _ Tsch _ , assholes.”

 

“I don’t know Yuuri’s plans Yura, and I won’t force him into submissions if he’s not happy with his work.” It’s a simple statement, but it rings true. If Yuuri decides to enter De Voss, or even Boss he’ll stand beside him and hold his hand, but he’s not going to force it, he want’s Yuuri to come to the decision himself. 

 

And that’s it, isn’t it? He can’t force Yuuri to do anything, he wouldn’t want to be the one to push, but he can offer his support, his love and hope that Yuuri takes it. That’s all he can do, he can offer his heart. He can’t be sure that Yuuri will accept it, but surely it’s worth the risk? If he doesn’t take the first tentative step then he’ll never know.

 

“Yura. I have to go.” He cuts across Plisetski’s apparent steam of unbridled rage, the kid would have never stopped. He’s not bad though, and he has talent.

 

“Running off to the pigpen?” Ouch. 

 

“Yes, dear!” He says brightly, “Give Yakov his phone back, he’s getting too old for this kind of thing. Feel free to save my number though, I’d like to see what you’ve been doing with yourself.”

 

“Yeah as if I need an old geezer like you to tell me my stuff is good.”

 

“Probably not, but I am Russia’s premier artiste, and it never hurts to get a second opinion.” Viktor is only half joking as he pulls on a jacket.

 

“Oh.” Yuri hesitates for a moment. ”Good luck with the other Yuri then.”

 

“I don’t need it.” Viktor smiles, heading out with Makkachin at his heels.

 

He’s going to Yuuri, he’s going to tell him everything, and he’s going to do it… just as soon as he works out what the hell he’s going to say. He gets as far as their park when he stops. He still has no idea how to put it into words. Makkachin runs off to scent the surrounding trees, so Viktor takes a seat. He can take a few minutes just to work it out.

 

He pulls out his headphones, detangling them carefully before he finds the song again. 

 

Just a few minutes, to let Makkachin play, and to get his head straight, then he’ll go, then he’ll find Yuuri and...

  
***  
  


Yuuri is convinced. More than convinced, he's certain. 

 

Viktor is hiding something. 

 

It started with an offhand comment, a playful extension of their bedroom conversations which had sent Viktor into an unfocused daze that had lasted three days. He had been suddenly silent in their interactions. Introspective in a way Yuuri had never seen him, and it was setting him on edge. 

 

So Yuuri did what Yuuri did best, and panicked. 

 

He spent the days rhyming off reasons for Viktor's sudden change in demeanour, he had grown bored of Yuuri and wanted to distance himself, had gotten what he wanted and was ending it, had seen a side of Yuuri he was less than happy with. His mind was ever ready with reasons. 

 

He had failed to get Viktor to come out with him tonight, he'd tried luring him out for movies and milkshakes as a way of lightening the mood between them, but Viktor had brushed him off with an excuse. Something wasn’t right, and Yuuri had no clue how to bridge the sudden gap that had appeared between them. 

 

Yuuri settled himself into wallowing, bundling himself into blankets and warming himself with a cup of tea. He simply needed to think this through, something about the suggestion that Viktor was keeping a secret had catapulted him into this scenario, therefore Viktor must have a secret. A fairly easy leap.

 

Viktor was not being forthcoming with said secret, so Yuuri should… what? Wait? Or try to work it out himself? Push for Viktor to open up? He’d promised to wait, he’d told Viktor he could be patient and wait for him to be ready to speak about it, but Viktor was taking his time, and Yuuri was worrying-

 

“Did you make tea without me? I didn’t think I’d be seeing you tonight if you know what I mean-” Phichit wanders from his room with a smile that falls at the sight of Yuuri on the couch. “Hey, are you okay? You look a little… freaked out.”

 

“I’m a little freaked?” No real point in denying it, Phichit is far too intuitive for his own good and has a brilliant and equally terrible habit of calling Yuuri on his bullshit.

 

“It’s Viktor, right?” Phichit pulls at one of his blankets, grabbing the end and snuggling into it, “The last time I saw you this on edge was when Celestino suggested you enter the De Voss, and most of that conversation was focused on Viktor.”

 

“Yeah. It’s Viktor, he’s been distant and it’s putting me on edge.”

 

“Okay, lay it on me, I have zero things to do tonight but skype my parents and that’s not until ten.” 

 

Phichit makes it easy for him to open up, to pour words into the comfortable quiet of their rooms with no fear of judgement, he just listens with his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and his eyes focused on the blank TV screen in front of them. It takes him only a few minutes to outline the problem, another couple to explain his headspace. His friend listens to the tale carefully, making no comment on Yuuri’s biases, nor on Viktor’s actions. When he’s finished it feels like he’s dropped a ton weight from his back.

 

They talk it over in the safety of the couch, Phichit is gentle but firm with his opinion, and Yuuri accepts it. He needs to do something, and if he’s brave enough it might just work in his favour. 

 

He pulls on his jacket, shoves his feet into the first pair of shoes he finds and heads out, with Phichit’s words still ringing in his ears.  _ Just be honest, be brave, and if it doesn’t work out I’m here. _ He treks from the building without any clear idea of what he’s planning, only that he’s going to find Viktor. He’s going to be brave, and he’s not going to let himself be left behind. He decides to head towards the apartment. His walk takes him through the park, spring sunshine still weakly pushing through the branches overhead. He’s come to think of it as their park, the place they spend so much time, talking, playing with Makkachin in the wet grass, walking slowly with fingers brushing, then -more recently- entwined.

 

He almost misses Viktor, he’s sat on their bench with headphones on and his eyes closed, a small frown twisting his brows. He looks beautiful in the dying spring light. Yuuri steels his resolve and takes a seat beside him, leaving inches of space. Viktor looks wary as he regards him.

 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Viktor focuses on him sharply, grimacing at the brunt force of the statement.

 

“I… guess I have?” He fixes his eyes on Makka, who’s darting from tree to tree sniffing excitedly. It hurts to have it confirmed even if he already  _ knew _ .  

 

“Is it something I did?” He doesn’t dare look at Viktor.

 

“No. No Yuuri it’s me I’m-” Viktor makes a frustrated noise and buries his face in his hands for a second. Yuuri can’t help but look. Viktor looks helpless beside him. 

 

Yuuri had prepared himself for rejection, had prepared himself for scorn, and prepared himself for dismissal. He hadn’t prepared himself for Viktor Nikiforov looking up at him, fingers covering his mouth as though trying to stop words from falling out, eyes shining with emotion.

 

He has no idea what to do.

 

_ Be honest. _

 

_ Be brave. _

 

Viktor and he had been forging a relationship, had been tripping along together with conversations and the lightest of touches. Viktor was expressive, funny and he used his hands and his body to communicate in a way that Yuuri had been hypnotised by. Light touches to the back of a wrist as he brought Yuuri's attention to a detail he enjoyed, demonstrating brushstrokes by guiding Yuuri's hand, had escalated into Viktor viewing his pieces with his chin hooked over Yuuri's shoulder, faces close and breath hot against Yuuri’s cheek. Skin against skin and warm under the covers while they indulged themselves in each other. It had been almost a natural progression. Viktor had simply slid into his world and set himself there with an ease that left Yuuri wanting more, wanting to reach out and take. 

 

When he had first been under Viktor's scrutiny it had put him on edge, he felt singled out. Getting to know Viktor had challenged him, had caused a seismic shift in his perception of his idol. The Viktor Nikiforov of the press circuit and magazine interviews he'd consumed all his life was but a perfected and polished product for the masses, elegant and beautiful. The Viktor Nikiforov that talked to Yuuri was dorky and funny, expressive and kind to a fault, less put together and intimidating than the image his manager so carefully crafted. Viktor was not the two dimensional caricature that the magazines put forth, but a real living person who was capable of making Yuuri crack up with three words or less. 

 

Spending time with his idol was a surreal experience, the man was a whirlwind of activity willing to drag Yuuri all over Detroit with him. Yuuri couldn’t quite understand what Viktor was getting out of their time together, but far be it from him to spoil his fun. Yuuri just accepted it as yet another character quirk, one which focused on discussing everything from art, to cinema, to comics, to relationship history (which Yuuri had quashed with a blush, it just wasn’t the kind of thing you discussed on park benches with Makkachin watching closely). Viktor had an uncanny ability to put him at ease, filling silences with light words that lulled him into opening up, and he never judged Yuuri for his reticence. It was with kind words and exuberance which Viktor disarmed him, always allowing Yuuri to bask in the joy of spending time with the Real Viktor Nikiforov. The Real Viktor Nikiforov was funny and sweet in a way he never came across on paper, and never seemed to be seen on camera.

 

Viktor had been showing himself to Yuuri for weeks now, figuratively and literally, exposing his quirks and character traits so easily that Yuuri had been able to follow his lead and had lowered boundaries he'd never realised existed. Viktor had disarmed him so guilelessly that Yuuri has trusted him implicitly, and that had been an error on both of their parts. 

 

Yuuri had always been reserved, and for good reason. He felt deeply, his emotions like tides that moved with monumental effort, and the oceans of feeling he lived with could be tempestuous, rough and consuming. He'd dammed them up, closed himself against those tides for years, out of necessity, for once the dam broke he could be whisked off in moments. He'd broken those dams so easily with Viktor, taken them down brick by brick because Viktor was like a calm wind over his ocean, a light touch on a wrist, he had barely noticed the dam coming down. 

 

Down it was, and now Yuuri was navigating the storm of emotions alone. But Viktor was not to know, was he? Nor was Yuuri blameless, he’d pulled back, pulled away and left Viktor to whatever pain was painting his features in stark lines of worry.

 

He and Viktor had often analysed his work together, examining the use of colour and discussing minute details. The thing the had both agreed upon (Viktor enthusiastically, Yuuri reluctantly) was that Yuuri had an excellent eye for contrasts. Yuuri could lowlight and highlight in such a way that the shape of Viktor's torso became less of a definite, sometimes simply an emerging suggestion on the canvas. It had delighted Viktor to no end. Yuuri knew about contrasts, about complimentary shades of colour and tone, and he could identify them inherently. 

 

He'd been incredibly blind not to notice that he and Viktor had been a study in contrasts themselves. 

 

Where Yuuri was heavy-handed with his art, Viktor was light. Where Yuuri was introverted, Viktor went ahead fearlessly. If Yuuri was a tempestuous ocean of feeling, Viktor was a light wind. When Yuuri faltered in his life, he would bury himself with the weight of his shortcomings. If Viktor stumbled he would laugh it off airily, moving along without a second thought. These were fundamental differences, giant chasms of disparity that he had perceived from his place far beneath his Idol. 

 

But there were discrepancies, tiny fissures in the reasoning that had lead them to this place. Yuuri had taken for granted that he was the one being pulled under the tides, that he was alone in his depth of feeling, but the look on Viktor’s face, the way he had striven in every interaction to put Yuuri at ease. The way they had fit together so perfectly, so intuitively in every aspect of their relationship… perhaps the true disservice he’d done to Viktor was discounting his feeling as less than his own, by sheer lack of belief in himself. Viktor liked him, Viktor sought him out, Viktor wanted to be around him and had flown halfway across the world to be here, and Yuuri had inadvertently fucked it up.

 

It could be fixed though, Yuuri mused. Early in their interactions Viktor had been a little too forward, too bold in conversation and action, setting Yuuri’s anxieties on edge, but they’d worked it out, Viktor had taken cues from Yuuri and mirrored him easily, and onwards they’d gone together. So this was a blip, a tiny microscopic miscommunication they could laugh about later. 

 

They just had to level the playing field again.

 

_ Be honest. Be brave. _

 

“My name is Katsuki Yuuri and I’m a moderately talented artist who’s been fanatical about you since I was old enough to have opinions on art. I have reprints of your pieces all over my childhood bedroom. I fell in love with your art and the idea of you before I could even understand what love was. I work tirelessly to come close to your level, and when you said you saw something in  _ my  _ art it shook me to the core.” Viktor is staring at him, fingers falling from their place at his lips slowly.

 

“My name is Katsuki Yuuri, I’ve been chasing you as long as I’ve known about you, and you finally stopped running long enough for me to catch up. You’re here and you’re real and I never imagined in all of my hundreds of thousands of daydreams that you would be  _ you _ . I never believed that you would see me this way, that you’d see in me the things I knew I saw in you for so long. I hoped and I dreamed all of that time that you’d see my art, see something worth looking at, but never could have believed you’d stop dead in your tracks and comprehend me.” 

 

And he had, hadn’t he? Viktor had seen something in Yuuri that no one else had ever perceived, the grasping pulling tides of his heart, laid bare on canvas in watercolour.

 

“I don’t know why, I don’t understand how, but somewhere along the way between being my idol and being my friend- you’ve become my heart.” His heart which is thudding painfully in his chest as he wills himself to continue, he’s pushing the words out to Viktor like a physical force. “I don’t know what happened when I asked you that question, I don’t know what I did that made you pull away, but I can’t let you go any further without telling you.”

 

_ I love you. _

 

“I love you.”  

 

His hands are shaking. He can feel the weight of Viktor’s gaze on the side of his face but doesn’t dare look up. 

 

One breath.

 

Two.

 

Viktor’s hands are gentle as they grasp his chin, guiding him to look, to meet his eyes. 

 

Viktor is smiling. Smiling and crying. 

 

He lets out a shaky breath, the bubbling happy feeling that had been so missed careening back into his chest like a tidal wave.

 

“I have a secret to tell you Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice shakes more than his fingers against Yuuri’s jaw, “I’m in love. I’m in love with a man who completely bewitched me in seconds.”

 

“Viktor, I-” Yuuri’s chest is filling with that heavy weight of happiness, expanding and catching his breath. Viktor’s eyes are shining behind his tears.

 

“Hush, beloved. You’ve had your say, now allow me to return the favor.” Viktor smiles, “I met a man who made me stop in my tracks the first time I saw him. His work was exquisite and unique in a way that so few are, he was a breath of fresh air in the staleness of a banquet ballroom. He was a siren call that I followed halfway across the world because I couldn’t not, and I… I found a different man than I remembered when I got here, but he was beautiful and endearing and charming and funny. I couldn’t help myself but reach out for him, I’m more than amazed to find that he reached right back.”

 

“When I saw your piece at the De Voss, it took my breath away, it was beautiful. But there was something… hesitant in it, as though you were unsure of yourself. I saw it and I wanted to see what could become of your art if you ever became sure, if you had the confidence to fulfill your visions. After the awards I waited for you, I wanted to talk to you about it, to find out what had held you back, but you ran from me.” Viktor shakes his head at the memory, a wry smile playing at his lips, “And then after the banquet I thought you would- I don’t know, what I thought. I wanted you, I wanted to know you, and when that didn’t happen I decided to come to you.”

 

Yuuri had no idea how he had possibly inspired such actions, he was just him, but he couldn’t regret it. Viktor had flown halfway across the world, had dropped himself into Yuuri’s life and had fit himself there with no effort at all. 

 

“It was a selfish thing, a possessive thing but I did it anyway. I wanted to know everything, to discover all of you, to find Katsuki Yuuri and keep him for myself.” Viktor picks up his hand, linking their fingers. “Instead I found you, not some silly idea of you drowned in too much champagne and dancing, but a man who makes me lighter than air every time he smiles at me. I- I’m not good with words, Yuuri. I’m clumsy and stupid whenever I try to put it into words. It seems such an inconsequential thing, to say that I love you, it doesn’t feel enough. But they’re the only words I know to make you understand.”

 

The meeting of their lips is inevitable, they cling to each other as though any inch of space is a mile.

 

_ *** _

 

_ Where were you a year ago? _

 

_ Barcelona, it’s lovely in the spring. You? _

 

_ Here. Detroit. Working on the De Voss piece and pulling my hair out. _

 

_ Where do you want to be in five years? _

 

_ Wherever you are. _

 

Wherever you are. Viktor can’t help but love the sound of that.

 

They huddle together on Viktor’s couch having been driven inside by the sudden downpour they’re watching through the grubby windows. Yuuri snuggles further into his arms.

 

He never thought he’d be this lucky, he’d never imagined finding someone as amazing as Katsuki Yuuri. Yet here he was, the man of his dreams wrapped around him, warm on a rainy spring day. He was certain of few things, his talent, his career- and now Yuuri.

 

Love is an ordinary thing. You can love just about anything- a cup of coffee at just the right temperature for drinking, a piece of clothing that fits perfectly, a book with just the right words, a movie that makes your heart wrench, the first few strokes of brush on canvas. But to be in  _ Love _ \- to feel that pull of another person’s soul, the draw of their presence- is another matter.

 

That kind of love is a meeting of minds and hearts, is a meeting of souls. To have it is rare, to have it returned is rarer, is exquisite.

 

There was no rush, no hurry, no end date in sight. They were together.

 

They were effortless.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr [@topcatnikki :)](https://topcatnikki.tumblr.com/)


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